When seemingly sane mind perceives not one pale leaf move,
When bluest waters look green with envy,
When every living figure appears frozen
In incoherent matrix of time,
When,in undesirable silence,weaklings talk of our muddled mind,
And with us,being mocked,
With every bit of our soul being taken away,
And with every soul around being oblivious,
How can,in any way,be the truth told,
With a soundless voice,
Echoing,
In place remotest to their listening ears,
And being silenced.
How does it feel?